


I'm your landlady, not your hawkkeeper

by projectml



Series: Project April Fool's! [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Project ML, april fools!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectml/pseuds/projectml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: PG-13 (for content, although the amount of f-bombs...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm your landlady, not your hawkkeeper

The day she rented out the attic, Jeanette thought she’d made an amazing deal.

  


The guy was a little weird, sure, but hey, who was she to judge? Jeanette was strictly against kinkshaming, and if he was into wearing a mask and costume whilst doing his best deep voice, then Jeanette had absolutely no problems with it. Well, as long as he paid in cash every month.

  


So, she smiled brightly even if the guy had a permanent scowl engraved on his face and didn’t even care that the guy signed “ Hawkmoth ” like he was Beyoncé or something and didn’t have a last name. Whatever. Maybe Rach would stop bothering her about her eating habits now.

  


And then the problems started.

  


“Jeanette!” Alec growled at her the minute she walked through the old apartment building’s front door, whistling to herself. “What the  _ fuck _ is the guy you rented the attic to even  _ doing _ ?”

  


Jeanette blinked. “Quoi?” 

  


“ _ He just fucking took out a piece of wall and put a huge window which opens and closes _ .”

  


Uh-oh.

…

Jeanette sighed. “Okay,  _ Hawkmoth _ , we need to talk.”

  


The leather-wearing middle-aged man froze in the middle of whispering to a billion butterflies about how much he loved them ( _ fucking furry _ , her mind interjected.) and slowly turned around, looking pained. “Yes, Mademoiselle?”

  


“In the contract, I specifically said  _ no animals _ , you know.” She gestured at the gloomy, dark space that her cool, modern attic had been. “There are more butterflies here than there have ever been in Paris! And, anyway, aren’t you supposed to be Hawk _ moth _ , not… Butterfly Sugar Angel?”

  


Hawkmoth made an annoyed expression. “There was no stipulation like that in the contract, I assure you. I wouldn’t have violated an agreement like that. And besides, my butterflies are not  _ animals _ , Mademoiselle, they are my  _ companions _ , my partners.”

  


Jeanette froze. Did this guy just imply…?

  


The guy-with-an-insect-kink’s eyes widened comically, and he spluttered, “No! No! They are my minions! They  _ evilize  _ people! And they’re staying!”

  


She made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. “Fine! But then...I’m raising the rent! All you do is shout at butterflies on your own and Ana’s got a headache!”

  


The man muttered under his breath, “Okay.”

…

“EVILIZE HIM, MY LITTLE AKUMA!”

  


“I’m going to evilize your  _ fucking face if you don’t SHUT THE FUCK UP! WE’RE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE! _ ”

  


“...Sorry, Janice.”

…

“Hey, Rach.” Jeanette leaned against the doorframe, gazing lovingly at the bowl of chips on her neighbour’s coffee table. “D’you know where Hawkmoth is? He’s not in the attic, and I won’t go there again because the butterflies all start buzzing and it creeps me the fuck out.”

  


Rach frowned, chip in his mouth. “You mean Lycra Man? Oh, yeah, he’s at the Terrence’s, I think. Marie from fourth was hyperventilating about it today.”

  


“At the Terrence’s?” She raised her eyebrows. “Wow,” she said and stole a chip, running away before he could catch her.

  


Jeanette knocked on the Terrence’s apartment, and Francine opened the door, smiling widely, her white hair perfectly brushed. “Oh, Jeanette, how wonderful! Come in, we already have a guest.”

  


Hawkmoth, whom Jeanette privately referred to as “that weird ass man who has arthropods as his only friends and likes to pay several weeks late”, was sitting on one of the Terrence’s fluffy, flower-patterned armchairs, wearing a lady hat and holding a porcelain cup of tea.

  


She died a little inside.

  


“Heyyyy, Hawkmoth, wassup?” She nodded at him, fighting to keep her disbelieving laughter in.

  


He glared at her, murderous, but quickly schooled his expression to appear as if he were the most innocent little lamb in existence once Francine turned to him and smiled softly. “I was...invited to have tea with Francine and Renée.”

  


_ Sure, if by “invited” you mean “dragged out kicking and screaming”.  _

  


“I can see that,” Jeannette said instead of commenting on the fact that the hat Hawkmoth was wearing, complete with lace ribbons and a small swan that Jeanette really, really hoped was fake, had  “Miss Paris 1978” stitched into the front of it in obnoxious-looking cursive.

  


Renée came out of the kitchen, bearing cookies and croissants, and they both forgot all about dignity as they devoured the snacks without mercy.

…

“Pay your fucking rent, Honmoth.”

  


“...when I get my Miraculous.”

  


“Nope. No excuses valid. You’ve been saying that for like four months. Bro, you can’t just spend all your rent money on lighting so you can do that weird window effect.”

  


“It’s called ‘a dramatic intro sequence’, Mademoiselle. Please do speak properly.”

  


“Just give me the money, you thief.”

  


An exasperated sigh. “Okay.”

…

“GET ME LADYBUG’S MIRACULOUS!”

  


“ _ You’re gonna get fucking stabbed _ , Dragmoth.”

  


“IT’S A SUPERVILLAIN SUIT, OKAY?!”

…

Jeannette’s phone rang, and she picked it up. “Yup?”

  


A female voice full of uncertainty answered her. “Um, somebody named Janice told me I should give my Miraculous to you before she, and I quote, ‘kills a bitch’?”

  


Jeanette sighed. “Are you Ladybug?”

  


“...Maybe.”

  


“I’m Hawkmoth’s landlady.”

  


On the other line, she thought she heard an incredulous male voice say, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  


“...Oh. Is there any chance you could tell me where he lives so I can take him down? I’ll promise to get you a new tenant. Oh, and cookies?”

  


Jeanette bit her lip, hesitant. Sure, her tenant was hilarious and he paid, even if it took him a while, but… was it really worth it? He’d never done any permanent damage, had he? And it wasn’t like she couldn’t just denounce him any time if he did.

  


So she made her voice light and joking and said, “Nah, he’s good with busting you out of stuck elevators, and I like his butterflies. Bye, girl! Also, consider looking for another type of superhero suit. Spandex must get uncomfortable after some time.”

  


She was about to hang up, but she reconsidered. “Maybe you could send the cookies regardless?”

…

“Hey, Hawk, so, um, the neighbours were organizing a thing… for, you know, getting to know each other, and I was thinking, maybe you’d like to-?”

  


“My wife disappeared and I have emotional trauma from that since forever and I live in a dark attic, Gertrude.”

  


“So… no coffee on Wednesday either?”

  


“...”

  


“Okay. I’ll just, um, go now.”

...

  


Even before the door opened, Jeanette had her eyes closed, awaiting catastrophe.

  


“Hey, Lycra Man!” Rach cheerfully waved at him, holding the plug-in mics with one hand. “Um, our apartment just got the electricity cut off, but the attic runs on its own generator. Mind if we do our karaoke here? You can join!”

  


The girl dared to peek between her eyelashes, fearful of what she might see.

  


Hawkmoth’s expression was priceless. His mouth, the only part of him that wasn’t covered by that horribly unhygienic mask, was open in the shape of a wide ‘o’, his eyes fixed on her friend, practically screaming ‘are you kidding me’. “You want to… do karaoke… here?”

  


Rach grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Who wouldn’t want to sing Edith Piaf, am I right?”

  


Hawkmoth frowned. “ _ La vie en rose _ ? That’s a tourist song.” And then, to Jeanette’s complete befuddlement, he opened the door wide, muttering angrily under his breath, “Young people these days, only listening to Jean Baptiste Mellier like it’s gospel…”

  


“It’s Jean-Baptiste  _ Maunier _ ,” Jeanette corrected automatically, still reeling. “Wait, you’re actually going to let us do this? I’m warning you, Rach wants to sing the Disney edition, and he’s not going to let you escape from ‘Bonjour, bonjour’.”

  


Rach shot her a betrayed look.

  


Hawkmoth almost smirked, his mask wrinkling at the edges--a small ripple she’d never seen before--and Jeanette thought,  _ huh, he’s got a heart after all. The Terrences were right _ . “I happen to be simply  _ wonderful _ at ‘Poor, Unfortunate Souls’.”

  


When there were noise complaints that night, it wasn’t because Hawkmoth was doing his creepy demonic summoning thing again (and hey, Gertrude from third had declared, justicious, “Everyone likes a little satanism now and then.”), but because he was too busy passionately singing Whitney Houston, lungs giving everything they had while Jeanette cried because she was laughing too hard.

…

Quentin heard the voice in his mind clearly. “ _ Ah, but you are always so alone, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you like to - _ Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jeanette, I will pay you later! I am terrorising Paris!”

  


The boy frowned. What?

  


“No, for the last time, I am  _ not _ a drag queen! And I will  _ not _ try to eat your clothes because I am a moth and that is  _ not  _ my stage name! Go  _ away _ !”

  


Quentin looked around the park, blinking slowly and reconsidering voluntarily entering a mental institution.

  


“ _ Now, where were we, little boy? _ ”

…

Jeanette was brushing her teeth, trying to hum a Beyoncé song and only managing to get toothpaste everywhere when about a hundred white magical butterflies flew into the room, making her seem like the anime version of Snow White.

  


She spit out, eyes wide, and swore. “Fucking  _ Dragmoth _ ,” she sighed, rinsing her mouth quickly and trying not to be dismayed at the fact that her jeans were probably going to need one more wash. She turned to the beautiful, small, angelic, fucking annoying butterfly swarm and asked it, “What’s that, Lassie? Timmy’s fallen down the well?”

  


She grabbed her keys and jacket--because god only knew what Batman’s gay alter ego had gotten himself into--scrunching up her nose when the butterflies poked her in the shoulder and shooing them away while sticking her tongue out. 

  


Jeanette passed Janice, who looked dead inside and kept whispering, “Diapers. So many diapers,” and tried to seem a little less like 2009 Selena Gomez with a sentient swarm of magical butterflies accompanying her. The little bugs were directing her towards the Almighty Brooder’s attic, and she prayed to the yaoi gods that there wouldn’t be a horrible, traumatizing orgy in there.

  


Instead, she found him cowering behind a pretentious as fuck 19th century chair (the only furniture he owned because, “One does get tired after looking at the hawkwindow all day,” he’d admitted, even when Jeanette had rolled her eyes and told him to stop calling it a hawkwindow), trembling and looking at… a spider.

  


Wow.

  


All the butterflies were swarming around him, obviously agitated, and one of them was even trying to valiantly fight it, but there was another holding it back like it was saying, “Joffrey, it’s not worth it! Save yourself!”

  


Jeanette pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you serious?”

  


“I wouldn’t have called you!” Teenage Cosplayer whined, retreating when the spider advanced a fraction of an inch. “But  _ Rach  _ here wasn’t any help!”

  


He pointed to her friend, who was indeed flopping his mouth like a fish, eyes wide and staring at the spider while hidden behind the purple curtains and muttering gibberish about long, black, hairy legs.

  


Jeanette looked at the butterfly on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and left.

  


Five minutes later, she captured the spider inside a plastic cup and said, “Voilà! It’s safe now!”

  


Hawkmoth cleared his throat, standing up and dusting off his clothes, resolutely not meeting her eyes and swallowing, looking flustered. He turned around, looking at the window majestically. 

  


Rach lifted a hand from where he was lying on the ground (apparently the waiting he’d had to endure had made him relocate), looking pained, and said, “I’ll be right there, guys.”

  


Honestly.

…

It was only a matter of time, really.

  


Jeanette cracked her knuckles, raising an eyebrow. “So, you’re Ladybug.”

  


The spandex-clad girl hesitated and nodded, still frowning slightly with her fists clenched at her sides and her faithful partner watching her back. They were on guard, she realized.

  


“And I’m Chat Noir,” the boy added cheerfully. Jeanette mentally completed the line of the song that one cereal brand had marketed a few years ago:  _ toujours présent _ .

  


“Huh.” She sat down, and her armchair wasn’t a horribly uncomfortable wooden chair that was the only furniture in a dark attic, which was frankly delightful. “So… you know who he is?”

  


Ladybug nodded again. “We, uh. We purified his akuma. He’s… he’s just a normal guy now. So… yeah. You could have warned us earlier, you know.”

  


Jeanette forced a smile. “But where would be the fun in that, sweetheart?” She cleared her throat. “So...he’s not coming back.”

  


Chat Noir, eyes hooded and back as straight as a rod, shook his head and said everything wordlessly.

  


She was surprised at how hard it hit her, although she tried not to let it show. It had to happen eventually, right? The guy  _ had _ been a villain, after all, even if he’d only seemed like her extravagant tenant. And she  _ was _ glad he was okay now, even if she was sad to see him go.

  


Would his personality be the same?

  


Jeanette mentally shook those thoughts off. She wasn’t going to see him again, anyway.

  


“Oh. Sure. I’ll… put his attic on the market,” she made herself say and smiled. “After all, who doesn’t want to get rid of a the villain in their attic, right? It’s like the owls in Harry Potter.”

  


The two superheroes smiled politely and didn’t tell her not to bother when she offered her phone number ‘just in case he forgot something’.

…

  


The butterflies were still there.

…

The day she invited the first guy after Hawkmoth to check out the attic, Jeanette thought it was a done deal.

  


The guy was a little weird, sure, but hey, who was she to judge? If the man was an absurdly rich millionaire with a fashion enterprise at his feet and two secretaries to document his blinking patterns, then Jeanette had absolutely no problems with it, because it also meant that yeah, he was obnoxious, but  _ money _ .

  


So, she smiled brightly even if the guy had a permanent scowl engraved on his face, and didn’t even care that the guy signed “ Gabriel Agreste ” like he was Hugo Boss or something and his fucking name was a brand (even if it  _ was _ , it was still pretentious). Whatever. Maybe Rach would stop bothering her about her eating habits now.

  


And then the problems started.

  


She was about to sign the contract as well, putting on her best “Jeez, I lead a well-organized adult life” voice, when the man said, “I’ve heard this building has a history of housing drag queens. Will this be an issue?”

  


Jeanette spluttered, “Where did you hear that, eh, Monsieur?”

  


He  _ smirked _ , and she knew.

  


She punched him in the shoulder. “Well, you could have paid earlier if you were loaded, you know!”

  


“A sense of mystery is appreciated, I’m often told.”

  
“Oh, fuck off, Lycra Man.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written By: @i-read-good-books
> 
> Character Focus: OC & Hawk Moth
> 
> Rating: PG-13 (for content, although the amount of f-bombs...)
> 
> Word Count: 2454


End file.
